I've recently been overhauling the massive collection of poetry that I've written over the years. Most of it is not very good, but I'm posting a few pieces. Constructive criticism would be most welcome, as I am trying to improve my writing style.
I have been experimenting with writing free verse poetry. I'm not entirely satisfied with the results, but here are two of my free verse poems. I came up with the idea for the first one when we were waiting for Dad at the airport last week.
On Seeing a Summer Tanager Catch a Worm
I saw a Summer Tanager,
With jaunty crested head,
Swoop down from the high cherry bough
To catch a worm. I said,
“Why dost thou, pretty Tanager,
So wantonly take life?
Why dost thou kill this little worm,
And add to this world’s strife?
Why must he prematurely die
To feed thy nesting wife?
But I suppose all things must die,
Succumb to death’s decay.
If not for you, my little bird,
The worms might, in their day,
O’er run the earth with crawling forms,
And then what would I say?”
The Winds of Winter
The howling winds of winter cold
Lash ‘round the cow’ring dale and fold,
And sweep away o’er barren hill,
Spreading abroad their deadly chill.
Now shrieking, moaning, wailing wild,
Now plaintive cry, as some lost child,
Or curdling, bloody lupine scream
The winds appear to team
With ghostly sprites of former years,
Who, stumbling through their frozen tears,
Beseech, implore, and cry aloud
For fate to lift the final shroud
Of death, and let them live once more,
The golden, happy days of yore.
Of childhood’s mirthfulness and woes,
Of olden springs, and winter’s snows.
But e’en if this can not be had,
Their childhood joys to make them glad,
Then let them rest without a sigh,
And cease to roam through stormy sky.
Let their cold, weary souls have peace,
From such great torment give release.
Permit them all at last to fly
To a more restful place, and lie
Free from all worry, care and pain,
And let them never roam again.
Unto these souls some mercy show,
And let them all find rest, and go.
But unkind fate has sealed their doom,
To wander ever through the gloom
Of frozen earth and darkling sky,
To wander on, and sadly cry.
The spirit voices screech and wail,
But they will fail
To enter at my window pane.
The shiv’ring storm sprites try in vain
Loud they complain
Of my hard heart that keeps them out.
They are left out in the storm,
Cold and hungry,
They try to warm
Chilled fingers at my window pane.